so it’s another work week and I’m stuck in MD at OPSEC, and I’ve wasted away most of the day. Best part is…I got paid for it. So I guess score one for the kid right?
I realized today that I’m truly happy where I am in life. Yes, ole crazy me!! I’m actually happy. It’s amazing how it took all this time to get this way but I am. I truly thought I was happy with my ex, but I realized that through it all I was putting on a front. Like most bipolar people I found a way to put on a mask and hide what was really going on in my life.
For the longest time, I didn’t want anyone to know. And I’m sure that I have said this before, but well you get to read it again. I knew I put on a mask, and wasn’t ashamed of it. I’ve known I was bipolar since my early 20’s. Really since my early teens. That was my first suicide attempt. I was 16, my boyfriend had just left me, citing his family beliefs, but in my mind it was I who was the cause. Maybe I called too much, maybe I texted him…no wait we didn’t have cell phones back then **gasp** yeah, there was a time without cell phones. So yeah, I must have called his house phone too much. (I’m sure you can tell I’m a bit old by that fact). His mother was tired of calling him…Roy** come get this damn phone boy!!! I took too much of his church time. I wasn’t a church girl, hell I wasn’t much of a girl at all. But I wasn’t the wholesome cleancut church going Christian his mother wanted. So it was my fault. I gave up my virginity to him, took his too. I put her son in a sexual trance. Welp probably not but it was my fault. He left me, right before my senior year of highschool!! Damn him, the one year I was going to be a break out basketball player, all state in volleyball, and a state district champ in track!!! Well none of that happened. My Bball team sucked like they had the previous 5 years. We had only won maybe 6 or 7 games the whole time I was in high school. We were the “Vanderbilt’s of the SEC”, my volleyball team…I’m 5’3″, I wasn’t the setter, so I wasn’t going anywhere. And track…well I had subpar grades and had to drop the one class that made me eligible for sports in the spring. So I sat back and watched my dreams fall through the cracks. No perfect boyfriend with the awesome smile that melted my heart, no more sexual experiences (or so I thought) to get better at this sex thing. That summer went to waste. I was devastated. My life was over. No other boy wanted me. I was too boyish, or I was one of the guys. So I locked myself in my room. I cried, I punched pillows, I cursed his name, and his mother. I cursed my mother for not making me more feminine so I could attract more boys. But shit I was who I was. I locked my door once more, and stared at the bottle of pills.
I thought, what if I took these, then called him, he’ll come back to me. He won’t want me to suffer. He’ll take care of me. He won’t leave. But I had to plan it just right. I had to be found, I scrambled to find paper to write a note. I told my sister to call 911, then to call him and tell him that I did it for him. As I wrote this instructions on the paper, I begin to feel happy. I was going to get it over with, but he’d come back to me. If I didn’t make it, he’d feel like shit because he was the reason why.
I got up, grabbed my water, tossed 4 pills in and swallowed. I tossed in another 4 and swallowed some water with them. Then another 3 with water. Finally, the final two. I had emptied what was left. I set the bottle back on my dresser. I finished the water, and waited. I unlocked my door, left it closed because I wanted the dramatic scene of my sister bursting in to see me.
I got sleepy, I never ate anything. I felt the pills swming in my belly. I wanted to throw up, but I had to stand strong. I had to see this through. I didn’t want to punk out like my bitch mother had when she attempted it with pills. I wanted to accomplish my goal.
….
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…
…
I failed!!
I woke up in the middle of the night, with the worst headache ever!! My mouth was dry as fuck. I just felt exhausted!! My door was still closed. No one bothered to check on me. That’s the problem with being an introvert. You read so much in solitude no one bothers to check on you. I felt defeated. I crumbled my “note” and threw it in the trash. It was still summer so there was no school the next day. My birthday was coming up soon, and I was going to be 17. I was a devirginized tomboy. I had another year to finish high school and get out on my own.
I felt jipped, I had survived death. Or maybe I never met that bitch. Or it wasn’t my time to go. Either way, no one cared. Well no one really knew. I never told, until now. The most I ever said was that I tried to kill myself in my teens. I’ve never told the story until now.
I’ve become a survivor. I’ve tried this same stunt…well not a stunt, but I’ve tried to off myself at least a dozen times between then and now. It’s been a struggle. But I’m still here!! I’m still standing!!